


The Bastard Queen of the North

by Fandomswonder



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22351174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandomswonder/pseuds/Fandomswonder
Summary: Rowan Snow has grown up in Winterfell ever since she could remember, raised as the niece of Ned Stark, bastard of Benjen Stark.However, things change after the King comes to Winterfell, making a surprising decree which prompts Benjen to make a confession to his brother.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Original Female Character(s), Ned Stark & Original Female Character, Sandor Clegane/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally had a work on here called "The Lady Bastard of Winterfell". I had only posted 4 chapters, but wasn't really satisfied with it. Even though that story was almost finished, I have been overcome with the need to scrap and rewrite the whole thing, and honestly, I think this will turn out much better than my first iteration. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.

Steel sings in the courtyard as the sparring continues, the two bastards training. 

“Block more, Ro!” Jon yells to his cousin, Rowan, as he advances to her. 

“Give me a fucking bow, Snow, and I’ll show you who needs to block.” She responds, quietly as she barely blocks his advance to her. 

Jon rears back and catches her on her arm, and she howls in pain. 

“Gods damnit, Jon!” Rowan hisses, dropping her sword and holding her arm closer to her body, inspecting it. 

“That’s why I told you to fucking block.” He chastises her, guiltily. 

Thank the gods that they aren’t sparring with live steel, or it could have been much worse. 

“What happened?” 

Rowan and Jon both turn to look at their Lord, Eddard Stark, commonly referred to as Ned. 

“I didn’t block,” Rowan responds, painfully embarrassed, as she holds her arm close. 

Ned shakes his head as he walks over to her, gently taking her arm and moving it. 

“Does that hurt?” He asks, and Rowan shakes her head no. “Good, you’ve not broken it, this time.” Ned nods, giving them a small smile. “Jon wouldn’t let you practice with your bow?” 

Rowan shakes her head. “He’s scared.” 

“Am not! I’m just not good at a bow as you are, Rowan.” He responds, matter of factly. 

Ned and Rowan both laugh at Jon, who shakes his head and walks off. Ned turns to Rowan as soon as he does and gives her a smile. 

Rowan sees his smiles more than all the others, probably because she’s the oldest child out of all seven in Winterfell castle. He’s not her father, but he raised her on behalf of her father, Benjen Stark.

“I wish you would stop training as a Lord, Rowan. You are going to be all scarred up, then how will I marry you off?” He asks, half teasingly. 

Rowan looks at him seriously. “I’m a bastard, that will never happen. I won’t ever marry a high born, anyway.” She tells him, a matter of factly. 

Ned’s heart breaks at her reply, knowing how true it is. He wishes it wasn’t so for her. She’s a wonderful sister and daughter, and he wishes she came from him, and not his brother. 

He sighs. “I wish you weren’t so serious all the time. What happened to the carefree girl that taught Bran how to climb?” 

Rowan shrugs. “She was sent far away on her sixteenth name day. She came back with the knowledge that not everything is so rosy, even in the city of Dorne.” She answers honestly, picking up her discarded sword and putting it back in its place. She winces as the movement jars her arm. 

“What happened?” 

Ned and Rowan both look up at the catwalk, seeing Catelyn Stark looking down at them from above. 

“Just a small injury from the spar.” Rowan shrugs, not wincing this time. 

Catelyn looks from Rowan to Ned, who nods in assurance, before focusing her attention back on Rowan. 

“Your Septa is looking for you. You’ve missed two lessons today.” Catelyn says, moving on. 

Rowan rolls her eyes. “I know all there is to know about being a Lady, my Lady. Any dead brained whore could do it.” 

Catelyn tries to hide her smile at Rowan’s remark. “Even so, you still need your lessons. I want everyone to know that our first ward was treated with respect, as is our other one. But you can make it up tomorrow, Bran has seen the King on the King’s road. Hurry and get washed up.” 

Rowan nods, looking at Ned and rolling her eyes again as she walks off to her chambers to get ready. 

\----

Rowan looks at herself in her mirror, smiling at her reflection as she sips on some wine she lifted from the kitchen. She doesn’t like a lot of people, and the wine helps to take the edge off. 

Sansa made her a beautiful dark grey dress, covered in small white wolves. While she considers herself a Stark, as well as Catelyn, she told Sansa to make them small enough so she didn’t offend her brother, Jon. Cat isn’t as nice to him as she is to Rowan so Ro tries to keep that in mind whenever her sister makes her new clothes. 

The dress is form-fitting and one of the most intricate patterns Sansa has attempted yet, and Rowan is very appreciative of her sister’s talents. 

Rowan smiles as she turns to grab her dark grey fur cloak, with light grey around the edges, tying it around her throat before assessing herself one more time. She smiles as she makes a couple of finishing touches to her hair. 

She picks up her cup, downing the rest of the wine before walking out of her room and almost running into Theon Greyjoy, her Uncle’s ward. 

“Pardon me, Theon.” She tells him, sheepishly, turning to lock her door. 

“Ah, I thought we might get a little fuck in before the King shows up.” He tells her, his smirk evident in his voice. 

She rolls her eyes at the door before turning around and feigning a soft smile. 

“I’m not sure why you thought that Theon, but the answer is no,” Rowan says, curtsying before trying to move past him, but Theon blocks her way. 

“I remember you before they shipped you off to Dorne and you became a Southern whore. I remember you begging for my cock.” He says, pulling her by her arm to him. “You’re nothing more than a northern bastard whore, who is barely good enough to take my cock.” 

Rowan looks back at Theon with fire in her blue eyes. She wrenches her arm out of his grasp. 

“The only reason I begged for your cock was that you’re the only guy around here not related to me. And those were the times I was drunk, if I may remind you.” Rowan responds, seething. 

Theon’s face grows red, and he raises a hand to slap Rowan. 

“If you slap her, Greyjoy, I’ll cut you down.” 

Theon and Rowan both turn toward the voice, seeing Robb Stark standing there. 

“But she…” Theon starts yelling. 

Robb advances toward Theon, causing the other boy to shut up. 

“I don’t care about what she did. She’s my sister and you won’t lay a hand on her, understood.” Robb commands Theon, calmly. 

Theon huffs as he turns away and leaves Robb and Rowan alone. 

“I appreciate you rescuing me, Robb, but I could have defended myself,” Rowan tells Robb, looking at him again. 

Robb smiles. “I know, but I like him knowing that he’s still our ward. Keeps him in his place.” He explains, looking Rowan over. “Mother will approve. Are you ready? We can walk down together.” He says, offering her his arm. 

Rowan returns Robb’s smile, nodding as she takes his arm.

Robb leads them to the courtyard, where everyone is waiting for the King’s arrival. He stops at the row behind the family, and Rowan releases his arm, knowing this is where she’s supposed to stand. 

Catelyn turns to Rowan, giving her a sympathetic look before glaring at Jon and then turning back to face in front of her. 

Rowan nudges Jon and rolls her eyes when he looks at her. Jon chuckles as Rowan hears the sound of horse hooves entering the courtyard. She turns her attention to the gate, interested in who is arriving.

She sees an iron helm in the shape of a hound and it instantly catches her attention. Rowan’s eyes follow the man astride a beautiful onyx beast of a horse, and she feels a stirring as she watches him dismount before he removes his helm. 

“That’s the Hound,” Theon whispers in her ear, causing her to startle and look toward him. 

“Get the fuck away from me, Greyjoy.” She commands him, rolling her eyes as she looks back toward the Hound. 

She blushes as she realizes that they’re sharing a gaze, and she quickly looks away, playing coy. When she looks back at him, he’s looking straight in front of him, at everyone yet no one at the same time. 

Everything goes by in a blur as she goes through the motions, kneeling and drowning out the incessant rambling of the royals.

Soon, everyone can move about freely, and Rowan decides to walk over to the tall, scarred man. She slows as his horse ninnies, holding her hand out for the horse to sniff. Once she gets the ok from the beast, she places her hand on his nose, smiling when the horse closes his eyes. 

“He doesn’t do that for anyone but me.” The man tells her, gruffly surprised. 

Rowan turns to him, smiling up at him as she continues petting the horse. “He’s beautiful. You take really great care of him. What’s his name?” She asks, genuinely interested. 

“Stranger.” He tells her, curtly. 

Rowan chuckles. “One of the Seven, yes?” She asks, looking him over. “It fits. What would the rider’s name be, if I may ask?” She asks, politely. 

“Only if the lady will tell me hers.” He negotiates. 

“Rowan Snow. I’m a bastard, and definitely no lady.” She offers up, shrugging.

He pauses for a minute before he responds. 

“Sandor Clegane.” He tells her, studying her face. 

Rowan blushes under his scrutiny, and she moves back from the horse. She curtsies to Sandor, looking back up at him as she straightens. 

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Sandor Clegane.” She tells him before turning away from him, smirking to herself as she walks away. 

\----

‘Fucking hell.’ Sandor thinks to himself as he follows the Prince around Winterfell, bored out of his mind. 

As soon as Joffrey stops to talk to someone, Sandor’s mind goes to the peculiar meeting he had with Rowan Snow. 

He finds himself confused, wondering what could have possessed her to walk up to Stranger and pet him. No one ever does that, at least not to him. 

“Dog! Come on.” Joffrey’s trill voice breaks through his thoughts, bringing him back to the bleak reality he finds himself in at the moment.

Sandor grunts as he quickly catches up to Joffrey, realizing that Rowan is standing in front of them with some of the Stark children. 

“My prince.” The redhead addresses Joffrey. “I’m Sansa Stark, and this is my sister Arya, and our cousin Rowan Snow.” Sansa introduces them sweetly. 

“Ah, a bastard.” Joffrey spits as if the word tastes bad itself. He turns to Sansa. “How is it hanging out with a bastard? I wouldn’t know since I don’t associate with them.” He shrugs, looking away from Sansa, disappointed. 

Sandor watches Sansa look from Rowan back to Joffrey. “I don’t associate with her, she just happened to be standing here. So, I did my duty of being polite and introducing her, that is all.” She defends herself. 

Sandor’s eyes flick over to Rowan just in time to see her face fall and he’s surprised by how quickly she recovers. 

She catches him looking at her, and she gives him a small shrug, probably at the scowl on his face, unnoticed by anyone else. 

Apparently pleased by Sansa’s response, Joffrey starts walking again with Sansa in tow. Sandor finds himself falling in step with Rowan, a few paces behind the young couple.

“Bored, little wolf?” He asks, quietly so as not to draw the ire of the little Prince.

Rowan shrugs, glancing at him. “More ready for the wine. I should have stolen some before they brought it all up to the dining hall.” 

Sandor chuckles low. “Aye, you should have.” He responds, looking down at her. 

Rowan looks up at him with an amused look. “I never said I was going to share.” She points out. 

Sandor keeps an eye on his charge and Rowan’s cousin as they come to a stop away from him and Rowan before turning his attention back to the woman. 

“Never said anything about sharing, I would have taken it from you.” He tells her, honestly. 

It’s Rowan’s turn to chuckle softly this time. 

“I would have liked to have seen that,” Rowan responds, coyly as she starts walking again, following Sansa and Joffrey. 

Sandor follows quietly, caught off guard by Rowan’s playful banter. The only women who even entertain the idea of being with him are the whores at the brothel, not even a low born bastardess would give him the time of day around King’s Landing. 

He watches Rowan as they follow the young couple, taking in everything about her. The way her hair is simply pulled back and the way her dress hugs her curves, even making out the light grey wolves on her dark grey dress. He looks away as they come to another stop, Joffrey and Sansa bidding goodbye. 

Sandor feels Rowan’s eyes on him, and he meets her gaze. He blushes as she curtsies to him, again. 

“Until next time, Sandor,” Rowan tells him before following Sansa away from the Prince and his hound. 

\----

Cersei sits at the high table with Catelyn Stark, watching the festivities. Cersei more watching her husband, King Robert, flirt with the maidens, outright disrespecting her. She makes no show of her discontent, even when she feels Catelyn’s gaze on her after watching Robert make out with one of the wenches. 

She and Catelyn make small talk, more because Cat is uncomfortable than that she’s interested in the Queen’s life. Cersei remains polite, even when Sansa Stark comes to stand in front of the table, wanting to meet the Queen. 

However, Cersei isn’t interested in the little girl that is going to marry her son but on the dark-haired beauty in the inverse colors of House Stark. 

She looks back at Sansa, giving the young girl her attention as a Queen should. 

After she dismisses Sansa, her attention travels back to the young woman. Her name’s Rowan, but that’s not the name she was given. At least not by Cersei.

Cersei’s heart swells as she realizes that it’s her firstborn daughter, Joanna, named after her own mother. She can’t help but smile as she sees that her daughter looks just like her father, the King, but has inherited the Lannister’s expressions. She’s almost proud that Rowan looks like a natural Lannister, bored and with a cup of wine in her hand. 

Cersei’s moment is broken when Robert and Ned join them back up at the high table. She looks to Robert, who doesn’t even glance back at her before getting the room’s attention. 

“Rowan Snow, step forward,” Robert commands, brusquely, wobbling as he moves to his seat next to his wife. 

Cersei watches as her daughter gracefully stands up, walking with her head high as she makes her way to stand in front of Robert. 

She has to look away as her heart swells, seeing the young woman Joanna has become. She turns to Catelyn, her own walls down for a brief moment. 

“She’s beautiful. I wasn’t aware you had an older daughter.” Cersei says to Cat. 

Catelyn beams at Cersei, rightfully so. 

“That’s Rowan, Benjen Stark’s bastard.” She whispers to the Queen. “She has just returned, a month ago, from her foster in Dorne.” Catelyn boasts. 

Cersei nods her brow furrowing in confusion. “Was she not sent to be wed? I remember Robert making mention of it a few years ago.” 

The truth was, she hated the thought of her own daughter being sent away, forced to marry another man as she was. But, Ser Gregor did kill Prince Oberyn’s sister, so reparations had to be made. 

Catelyn shrugs, a fierce adoration coming over her face as she looks to Rowan. She leans closer to the Queen, whispering to her. 

“She wasn’t too keen on his lifestyle. Not that it’s wrong, just not for her. Her words.”

Cersei glances away briefly. “How diplomatic. And he just let her go?” 

Catelyn shrugs. “Apparently she has a way with words, and Prince Oberyn and his brother let her return.” 

“Rowan Snow, I hereby legitimize you, Rowan Stark, of House Stark,” Robert announces. 

Cersei looks down upon their daughter, a frown on her face as the lioness becomes a wolf.

\----

The dining hall falls deathly quiet after King Robert’s announcement, shocking everyone silent, but none more so than Rowan herself. 

Rowan quickly regains her composure, even though she’s sure her face is four shades redder now. She curtsies, wobbly, before looking back up at the King. 

“Thank you, Your Grace. You humble me so. I hope I can live up to the name.” She replies, graciously. 

Robert says something, but the scowling Queen catches her eye, and something tugs at Rowan’s mind. 

“That is all, Rowan.” 

Rowan’s attention snaps back toward the King, and she curtsies again before turning away from the high table. 

She notices all of the children’s happy faces, including Robb’s nod of approval. She smiles politely, even though she has a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

Rowan politely excuses herself as she walks outside, needing some fresh air, and a respite from the congratulations around her. 

She sighs after walking out of the castle, breathing deeply. 

The sound of horse hooves catch Rowan’s attention, and she looks toward the castle gates, a small smile as she sees her father, Benjen Stark, riding into Winterfell. 

She goes to follow him, to see him after so many years, but she feels as if someone is watching her. 

She looks around slowly, peering into the shadows. 

“Who’s there?” Rowan asks, her voice like steel cutting through the night. 

A tall figure stands up from the shadows and starts to walk toward her, and she curses herself for not having at least a sword with her. 

She smiles once she realizes it’s Sandor, and she relaxes a bit. 

“Spying on me for the King and Queen, Clegane?” She asks, smirking up at him as he walks up to her. 

He chuckles. 

“No, little wolf. Well, not right now, anyway.” He jokes, looking down at her. 

Rowan blushes at the ‘little wolf’ bit but doesn’t falter in her retort. 

“So, you were waiting for me, then?” 

The Hound chuckles again. “Not really, just don’t like big crowds.” He admits, shrugging. 

Rowan nods. “I understand that. I was going to go see my father, would you like to meet him?” She asks before she can stop herself. 

Sandor stands there, shocked at her question, but he finally shrugs. 

“Sure.” He responds. “I have nothing else to do anyway.” 

Rowan laughs. “I’m sure you don’t. Come on.” She says, leading the way to where her father rode off to. 

She finds him in the training yard talking with Jon. 

She smiles to herself, always delighted to know that her father and Jon got along better than he did with anyone else. 

“Father, Jon. Sorry to interrupt.” She says, announcing herself. 

Benjen looks around, smiling at his daughter. “Rowan, it’s been so long! You look well!” He greets her, wrapping her up in a tight hug. 

As he lets her go, he notices Clegane standing a few feet behind her. 

“You’ve brought a visitor.” He says, nodding toward Sandor. 

Rowan smiles as she looks back to Sandor briefly before back at her father. 

“Father, this is my friend, Sandor Clegane.” She introduces him. 

“Aye, he’s also the fucking Hound,” Jon interjects. 

Rowan hears Sandor snarl, but only rolls her eyes. 

Benjen laughs at Jon. “He is, but he’s also a guest, we would do best to remember that, Jon.” He gently chastises the lad before turning back to Rowan. 

“What have you been up to, Ro?” Ben asks, genuinely interested. 

She shrugs. “I’ve just come back from Dorne, a month ago. Thank the gods too, because I was tired of all the damn sun.” She says, half-joking, causing Ben and Jon to laugh. 

“What about since you’ve been back?” Ben asks. 

“Well…” Rowan starts, but Sandor cuts her off. 

“King Robert legitimized her tonight. She’s now Rowan Stark.” He answers Benjen. 

Rowan blushes scarlet at the revelation, not wanting it to be revealed in such a manner. 

Ben looks to Rowan, proudly. “Congratulations, Ro!” He says, sweeping her up into his arms again. After he puts her down, she looks to Jon, who has fire in his eyes. 

“Isn’t it great, Jon?” Ben asks, giving Snow a pointed look. 

Jon nods. “Congratulations, my lady.” He responds and the tone and inflection are not lost on anyone there. 

Rowan is at a loss of what to do as she looks between Jon and Ben. 

“I need to get back, I’m sure. It was good to see you, father. Let’s go, Clegane.” She gently commands the Hound as they walk away from Jon and Benjen. 

\----

After his daughter leaves, Ben turns to Jon. 

“It’s not her fault that she was legitimized. It’s politics, Jon. I’m sure the King wants something in return, otherwise, it wouldn’t have happened.” Benjen tries to explain to his young nephew. 

Jon nods, sighing heavily. “I know, Uncle Benjen, I just...she gets everything, but Lady Stark makes sure I’m reminded of being a bastard every fucking day!” He exclaims, keeping his voice as low as he can. 

Ben gives him a sympathetic smile. “I know. It’s because you’re Ned’s bastard, and you know that.” 

Jon sighs again.

Ben chuckles. “Bastards are always welcome on the wall, except the women.” He nudges Jon. 

Jon rolls his eyes but smiles at his Uncle. 

“I’m ready.” 

“I know,” Ben tells him, clapping him on the back. “I need to get in there, save your father from his guests.” 

Ben gives Jon a parting wink and walks to the castle, in search of Ned. 

\----

“Ben.” Ned greets his brother with a bright smile. 

“Ned,” Ben replies as they embrace. “Some party you have going on here.” He jokes, looking out over the party. 

“Aye, hopefully, it’s almost done.” Ned responds. “I take it Jon asked again?” 

Ben nods. “He did, but that’s not why I’m here.” He says, looking at Ned, nodding toward a private room. 

Ned furrows his brow in confusion but leads his brother to the empty room. 

“What is it?” Ned asks, a little harsher than usual, worried that the rumors from beyond the wall are true. 

Ben looks at his brother, guiltily. “I heard that Rowan was legitimized tonight. As a Stark.” 

Ned nods slowly. 

Ben sighs. “I have something to tell you, Ned.” He says, looking away in shame. 

A tense silence falls upon them as Ned waits for his brother to continue. 

Ben musters up the courage to look at his brother again. 

“She’s not my daughter.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The recollection of Benjen Stark, a flashback.

-Twenty Years Ago-

“I hate this city,” Benjen tells himself as he rides into King’s Landing. He heads to the stables, dismounting his horse and handing him over to the stable boy. 

He leaves the putrid stable, but the air outside of it isn’t much better. He scrunches his nose at the smell of shit mixed with cooked food and the forge, not too far from him. 

“Foul city.” He mutters to himself as he makes his way past the noisy merchants and beggar women, some showing themselves to him trying to entice him with a night of pleasure. 

Benjen ignores the unwashed and rowdy people of the city, making his way to the Red Keep, hoping to find the Hand of the King, John Aryn.

——

Cersei sits in her bedchambers, all alone save for her daughter, Joanna.

Two nights prior, Cersei’s son passed away. He was barely six months old and caught a fever from which he could not recover.

Robert bellowed and hit the wall, the hole that Cersei stares at now as her child beckons.

“Mama?” Joanna whispers, walking over to her mother. 

Cersei can barely stand to look at her daughter, the spitting image of her husband and son. She forces herself to look down at the babe, knowing it’s not her fault that the Seven took her brother instead of her.

“Yes, my love?” She asks with as much confidence she can muster, a fake smile plastered onto her face. 

“Mama.” Joanna says, excitedly this time, holding her arms out to Cersei, wanting to be held. 

Cersei’s smile fades quickly, and she shakes her head, looking back at her child, eyes full of malice.

“Don’t look at me like that, little fawn. How dare you ask me to hold you. Queens don’t ask to be held, they hold their head up high and keep going, no matter what.”

Cersei takes a breath, not registering the fearful look on her daughter’s face as she kneels down to get on her level.

“It should have been you,” Cersei tells the child, through angry tears and gritted teeth. “You should be dead, and he should be here with me!” 

Cersei breaks into sobs as Joanna stands there, her bottom lip trembling as she watches her mother cry, feeling her anger and pain. 

Joanna tries to comfort her mother with a hug, but Cersei pushes her away. 

“Get away from me you wretched girl!” Cersei shouts as she stands up, leaving her bedchambers, and her daughter, behind. 

——

Benjen has found Jon Arryn in the Tower of the Hand, smiling as he walks into the Small Council meeting room. 

“Ah, Benjen Stark. How’s First Ranger treating you?” He asks, a smile on his lips as he motions for the man in black to sit down. 

“Aye, it’s honest work.” He replies, smiling as he sits down across from the Hand. 

“I take it you’re looking for recruits?” 

Benjen nods. “Aye. I heard the dungeons here are full and the Wall grows thin. I have more brothers coming down to help me take them back.”

“There are many, I hope you will find some appropriate for your needs.” Jon offers, smiling at Ben. 

“I’m sure I will.” 

Jon stands up slowly. “Now, I have a small council meeting, I’m afraid I must cut our meeting short. If you stop by Winterfell on your way back, please give Ned my love.” 

“Of course.” Ben responds as he stands up as well, smiling as he shakes Jon’s hand. 

Ben turns to leave, but Jon clears his throat causing Stark to turn back to him. 

“I’m not sure when, but the Queen will request an audience with you before you leave. Please do whatever she asks of you.” Jon tells him cryptically. 

Ben nods, not sure what to make of the vague message. 

“I will.” He assures the Lord Hand before turning and leaving the small council chamber. 

\----

After leaving her chamber, Cersei finds her brother, Jaime Lannister in the training yard. 

Jamie sees his sister, red-eyed and gaunt, walking toward him. 

She tells him of her problems, of her disdain for her own child. 

Jamie listens to his sister, intently, genuinely concerned for her. 

“Benjen Stark is here from the Wall, looking for recruits. Maybe you could talk him into taking her back with him.” Jamie suggests. 

“She’s still my child, Jaime. I can’t just give her away.” Cersei argues. 

“You could kill her.” He jokes, half-heartedly. 

Cersei looks at him, fire in her eyes. 

“She’s my daughter.” 

Jamie pulls Cersei to him, kissing her lips gently. 

“You can always have more children,” Jamie says, his hands going to his sister’s hips, holding her close. 

“With you?” Cersei asks, looking up into her brother’s eyes. 

Jamie smiles lovingly at her. “Would that be so bad?” He whispers, kissing her neck. 

Cersei holds Jaime, feeling safe and secure for the first time since her son died. She pulls back and looks up at him. 

“We should get started now.” 

\----

Benjen was summoned that night as Jon Arryn said he would be. He finds himself walking in the impoverished Flea Bottom district of King’s Landing. 

It’s quieter than he ever thought it would be, at least compared to the day. Much cooler and the stench not as bad, since the city wasn’t baking in the sun. 

He reaches the hovel that one of the Kingsgaurd told him about, and knocks three times as he was also instructed to do. 

“Come in.” Says a light voice, one he scant recognizes.  
He does as the voice commands, walking slowly into the dimly lit house, giving his eyes time to adjust. 

“Your Grace.” He says, recognizing the golden-haired Queen. He bows his head in respect, before meeting her eyes.

He sees a haunted look about the blue eyes, as well as defeat and shame. 

“Benjen Stark of House Stark.” She greets him, not cold, but there is no warmth in her voice either. 

“Aye, Your Grace.”

Cersei nods. “When will you leave? I trust you will not be here for much longer, that melting Wall needs people to guard it.” She says, slightly mocking him. 

Benjen offers a smile. “Yes it does. May I ask what this meeting is about?” He says, becoming uncomfortable in this hovel with each passing moment. 

The Queen is known for her spies and treachery amongst those she despises, and while his brother helped the King win the iron throne, the Lannister woman has no love for the North, nor the Starks. 

To say he’s on edge is an understatement. 

Cersei nods. 

“I have a special request for an honorable man such as yourself.”

She steps away from her spot, revealing a young child, dark of hair, resembling those of Baratheon stock. 

The steely grey eyes, almost blue in the light, look back at Benjen, confused, and he turns to look at the Queen with the same expression. 

“Her brother passed two nights ago and I cannot stand the sight of her. I can’t rid her myself, nor do I want some peasant taking her and telling everyone where they got her from.” Cersei admits, looking back at Benjen with unshed tears. 

“She is my blood, she is Robert’s blood, yes, but I cannot bear her sight any longer. She now reminds me of what I’ve lost, and that was Robert’s first born son, his future, his heir.”

Benjen is in shock as the proud Queen breaks character in front of him, letting the tears run down her face freely in front of the Ranger. 

“If she’s to remain here, she will not be treated well. Robert drinks and whores his way around this city, twenty bastards reside here alone. Not to mention the two baseborn he claims.” She continues, pausing for a breath. “I cannot kill her, nor do I wish for her to be, but I will not raise her kindly as your brother and sister by law will.” 

Benjen goes to object, but the Queen holds up a hand to stop him. 

“They’ve just taken in Ned’s own bastard, yes? The one they call Snow? I know you’re a man of the Night’s Watch and you have forsaken all claims, lands, and heirs, but you can still pass her off as your bastard, Stark. Your brother is as honorable, if not moreso, as yourself. If she still has a passing chance, it will be in the North.” 

Benjen looks from the Queen back to the young girl, who meets his gaze. She has eyes of steel, and even though she looks only two years old, she understands more than they think. 

It doesn’t hurt that she reminds him of his sister Lyanna, a strong spirit taken by a mad king’s son. 

“Pass her off as your own, Stark, and I will keep the secret. I have ways to make Robert believe she has died, whatever I need to so that those who go digging won’t ever find her.” Cersei assures him. 

The longer Benjen stares at the child, the more she reminds him of the North, of home, of his family. 

The Ranger nods his consent, looking back to the Queen. 

“Aye. I will Your Grace. I will not breathe one word of this to anyone.” He assures her, nodding again. 

She looks at him with a mixture of relief and fear, but she nods, turning and walking out of the hovel without another word. 

Benjen watches the child as she looks after her mother, waiting for a reaction. He sees a few tears falling down her face as she turns back to face the Ranger. He walks over to the child, giving her a small smile. 

“Hey, there, lass. I’m your father now, ok?” He says, softly, bending down to comfort her. “Let’s go...Rowan.” He says, recalling a warrior maiden’s name from a tale Old Nan used to tell him.

The child, now Rowan, looks up at him questioningly, but makes no sound as she stands up. 

“Let’s go on an adventure, hm?” He asks, picking her up and walking to the door, making sure the coast is clear before walking back to his chambers. 

He confers with his fellow men of the black, and decides it would be best for him to head back to the Wall ahead of them, so he wouldn’t be slowed down by their new and many recruits. His men agree and Benjen gets everything ready. 

He spares no time in sending a raven, figuring that once Catelyn sees the small babe, she will instantly say yes. 

He makes sure to find extra garments, something for the harsh cold up North. 

Finally ready, he mounts his horse with Rowan, holding her tightly as he takes off, leaving the putrid and disgusting city behind, along with it’s wretched Queen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned's reaction to his brother's admission. Sandor gets to know Rowan a bit more.

Ned looks at his brother, never at a loss for words as he is now. 

“I tell you this now, Ned, because the things beyond the Wall beckon this way. And as First Ranger I have to go beyond the Wall, and one day I might not make it back. Someone besides the Queen needs to know this truth.” 

Ned sits down in the chair, his world crashing down. This girl who he has raised not only as his own, but for his own brother, is not who he thought she was. 

Benjen sighs. “I know it’s a lot, and I’m sorry for going against my oath and getting into matters of the realm, but I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if some tragedy had befallen that little girl. And look at what she’s become, Ned. A strong, fierce woman, already educated about the world, and that was because of what we did, Ned.” 

Ned looks up at his brother, still unable to find his tongue. 

“No one else can know, not right now. Including Cat. You have to promise me that, Ned. You’ll know when to tell Rowan, but it cannot be tonight.” Ben says, sternly. 

Ned nods, dazed. He wishes he could tell Benjen his own secret about his own bastard, but he cannot. 

“I’m sorry, Ned,” Ben whispers, giving his brother a sympathetic look before leaving the room. 

\----

As the festivities of the night die down, Rowan finds herself in the training yard with her bow and with a couple of quivers of arrows. 

She begins practicing, not worried about perfect shots, but to quell some anxiety within her. 

As she looses her arrows, she can’t help but feel giddy and hopeful at the fact that she’s been legitimized as a Stark. She’s always had the dire wolf in her bones, in her blood. Even though she’s not too keen on the title of Lady, she knows that it will help her when she needs it.

Rowan does feel some guilt at being the only Stark bastard legitimized, but she knows it’s because of Robb that the King didn’t make Jon a Stark. What’s the point when Ned already has three sons by Catelyn? The guilt does leave her when she remembers that this is probably just so Ned will say yes to Sansa marrying Joffrey and being the King’s Hand, since Rowan is his foster.

Rowan puts that out of her mind as she finishes her last quiver, not realizing how fast she had gone through the arrows. Chuckling to herself, she walks over to the target to remove all of them, noting how none missed the target. She smiles proudly to herself as she gathers the arrows. 

“You cold, little wolf?” 

Rowan startles and turns, smiling as she sees Sandor walking over to the training area, meeting him as she walks back to her quivers. 

“A bit. I don’t like wearing cloaks. They’re impractical and choke me.” She shrugs, looking to Sandor. “Is that wine?” 

Sandor looks down, nodding before offering it up to Rowan. “I haven’t seen you since talking to your family…”

“...so you came to check on me? How sweet the Hound is.” She finishes, half joking and very intrigued by this beast of a man. 

She notes the color creeping up his face in the dim torchlight, and the way his gray eyes dart around in embarrassment. 

“May I have some?” She asks, politely. 

Sandor nods, and as he pours, she quickly studies his face. 

Thick white scars cover the left side of his face, his hair barely covers the bald side and ear hole that he has left from whatever fire danced over his visage. 

His gray eyes meet her steel blue ones, and she blushes, embarrassed for being rude. 

“Here.” he says, gruffly, handing her the cup of wine. 

She takes it from him, barely glancing up at him. 

“Do you like staring at what people make fun of me for, girl?” He asks, insulting her. 

Rowan looks up at him, this time meeting his gaze. 

“No.” She shakes her head. “I haven’t really looked at you, so I took the time to while you were pouring my wine.” She shrugs, confidently, taking a swig from the cup he gave her. “You’re not a bad looking man, Sandor.” She tells him. “But I guess your fearsome attitude and reputation make others fearful of you.” 

Sandor doesn’t look away from her, yet doesn’t become enraged at her openness with him. 

“That’s not a bad thing.” She continues, giving him a sweet smile. “It’s much easier in this world to go around being feared than it is to try to get people to like you.”

“What do you know about it?” He asks, gruff but not angry. 

Rowan takes a sip of her wine. “More than you know. I was a foster at Dorne for five years, set to marry Prince Oberyn, whose sister was killed by your brother, Gregor.” She tells him, easily. 

A look of pure rage comes over Sandor’s face, and Rowan knows that the man standing in front of her isn’t truly the ‘dog’ that people call him. 

Even with the look of rage on his face, Rowan doesn’t feel like she’s in danger.

“You didn’t marry him.” Sandor spits out through gritted teeth, not liking the attention on him. 

Rowan shakes her head. “I did not. Oberyn loved nothing more than to bed me and then go bed some other bastard, fill her womb with his seed. He has plenty of bastards, and they’re all revered. The Dornish don’t ostracize their bastards as we do here.” She explains. 

“You give him a bastard?” Sandor asks, candidly. 

Rowan chuckles. “Oh no. I asked their maester for something to keep me from getting pregnant. I’m not sure if it was the tincture or the fact that maybe I’m infertile, but I never once became pregnant with him. But also, he chose to travel and use brothels more than his betrothed. He never forced me, but I didn’t enjoy it like I thought I would.” 

She takes a sip of her wine again, and she swears she can feel Sandor relax a bit, some of the tension ebbing away as she takes his mind from his brother’s memory. 

“Why’s that?” He asks after a moment of silence. 

Rowan shrugs, looking down at her wine before she looks back up at him. 

“I didn’t care for him, not in the way I wanted to. I thought I could grow to love him, but I couldn’t. He was everything I didn’t want in a mate, in a lover, but it was for the King and Queen, how could I refuse my duty?” She explains, her voice low. 

“How did you make them fear you?” He asks, bringing her back to the point of the conversation. 

Rowan chuckles. “I didn’t, but I showed them how Northerners deal with things beyond their control. I couldn’t keep Oberyn to myself, so I busied myself with other things such as hobbies, politics, watching the leaders and how they handled themselves. I put myself in situations to learn as much as I could. I followed around the maester, the maidens and servants, learning about the water gardens, little unknown places that only those who wander would know. When tales of Oberyn’s exploits would reach me, as they oft did, I would take the shame with grace, smiling in the face of those who wished for it to break me, mainly his mistresses. I wore his dishonor as if it were a breastplate, and kept my head held high. I did not talk bad of him to even my own handmaidens, who spun tales of their own but would attach my name to them.” Rowan explains, chuckling as she remembers the proud look on Oberyn’s face when she first came to negotiate her way home. 

“They didn’t openly cower at the sight of me, as people do you, but they were afraid of my determination, my honor and grace. Oberyn saw in me what few others have ever seen before, and he knew that letting me come back home could be used against him, he did it anyway, and told the King that his debt had been paid.”

Sandor doesn’t utter a word as she takes a pause to take a sip of her wine, allowing her to continue freely. 

“It’s easy to fear someone who looks different, who snarls at people, who is called a Hound, who gives people a reason to fear him. But, it’s an uneasy feeling to fear someone who looks like I did, like Sansa does. Wide eyed and naive, but there’s just something about me that makes you stay on guard.” She finishes with a small chuckle.

Sandor gives a small chuckle of his own as he mulls over her words, taken by her sincerity. 

Rowan gives him a gentle smile. “I hope I haven’t bored you to death, Clegane.” She says, gently chuckling. “But I do need to get this cleaned up so I can visit the godswood before bed.”

She sets the cup on the ground as she returns to picking up her arrows. 

Rowan feels Sandor’s gaze upon her as she finishes, and she turns to him once she’s done, a questioning look upon her face. 

“I was going to accompany you, if that’s alright.” He admits, shrugging. “I know you can take care of yourself, but I wouldn’t feel right if you were outside of the castle walls this late…” 

“And if some sort of bad luck should befall me, you couldn’t bear to live with yourself?” She finishes, gently mocking him. 

He grunts a reply, a smirk playing on his half deformed face. 

Rowan chuckles, lightly. “Alright, Sandor. You may accompany me, as long as the wee Prince doesn’t need your services.” 

“That little shit went to bed hours ago.” He responds quickly and Rowan notices but says nothing. 

“So, I have you all to myself then?” She asks, her tone flirty and teasing. 

Sandor nods.

Rowan chuckles. “Let’s go, it’s late already and we have the hunt tomorrow.” She says, leading him out of the castle walls and toward the godswood. 

“Wait.” He says and Rowan stops, turning back to him. 

Her heart is touched when he puts his own cloak around her shoulders, making sure it’s on correctly. 

“It’s cold, my lady.” He says by way of explanation. 

“Just Rowan, Sandor. ‘Lady’ is too formal for...friends.” She tells him, giving him a genuine smile before she starts walking again. 

\----

The northern cold is harsh and unforgiving, leaving Sandor wishing he hadn’t given his cloak to the Lady Wolf, but he quickly shakes that thought out of his head as they continue walking. 

“So, we’re friends, huh?” He asks, harsher than he intended, but Rowan doesn’t seem perturbed. 

She nods, and his heart tightens. 

“Is that alright?” She asks, and there’s a bit of sadness to her voice, as if she thinks she’s said the wrong thing. 

“Yes.” Sandor responds after a beat, glancing at Rowan as they continue. 

“Good.” She replies, and Sandor can hear the smile in her voice, which causes him to smile to himself. 

Bright red catches his eyes, and he stops immediately, his heart hammering as his mind goes to the worst thing he can think of. 

Fire. 

But it’s not fire, it’s just the pale moonlight reflecting off the bright red leaves of the godswood. 

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Rowan asks, quietly next to him before she walks closer to the tree. 

Sandor stands there, enraptured at the quiet beauty of the night. The moonlight bathes the area in an unnatural glow, the red leaves blowing in the gentle breeze, the mud squishing under Rowan’s shoes. 

Rowan. 

His eyes follow the now cloaked woman, his mind able to focus on her without other people around. He watches her walk to the tree, and he’s struck by how graceful she is with her head held high, not having to look where she trods. 

She’s different, unlike any woman he’s ever met. She doesn’t want anything from him, yet calls him a friend. She even introduced him to her father as such, and while he can shrug it off publicly, he cannot lie to himself. 

He does care that she sees him as a friend, the only person to ever do so, and admit it openly in front of others without a care of how other people feel about it. She’s truly a puzzle to him, as many women are, but he’s never wanted to figure any of them out before. 

Until now. 

Sandor can’t help but walk closer, wanting to be near this woman in even her most private of moments. 

She’s made a subtle impact on him from the start. He came to Winterfell thinking that this was just another fucking job, but now…

“The only other person that has ever been out here with me is my father, Ned.”

Rowan’s voice breaks the silence, causing Sandor to look down at her and right into her gaze. 

She smiles up at him as she pats beside her, and his body moves before his mind can tell it to. 

His body thrums with energy as he sits down next to her, close but not too close to be touching. 

Oh but how he wishes to touch her! Nothing inappropriate, at least not right now. Just to hold her hand, or if she would just caress his face…

“Are you ok?” She asks, causing him to look at her and her soft smile. 

He nods, fidgeting a bit. “It’s...no one ever asks me to sit next to them.” He admits, quietly. “Or wants me to.” 

Rowan frowns up at him before looking back at the tree, quiet, deep in thought. 

He watches her for a moment before turning his attention to the tree and finding the face carved into it horrid. The red sap coming from the eyes and mouth does nothing to quell the trepidation he feels looking at it. He turns his attention toward the branches with the fire leaves on them before he turns his attention back to Rowan. 

She has her eyes closed now, her lips silently moving in prayer, and Sandor notes how peaceful she looks. 

He looks back to the tree, feeling more at peace the longer he stays here, at least with her. He feels honored to be the only other person to share this moment with her. 

“Are you cold?”

Sandor looks down at her again, giving her a small smile as he shakes his head. 

He’s truly not cold and the thought hasn’t crossed his mind since sitting down. 

Suddenly, Sandor frowns and Rowan cocks her head. 

“What’s wrong?” She asks, genuinely concerned. 

He thinks for a moment before responding, making sure to choose his words carefully. 

“You’re done praying.” He states, glancing away. 

He hears Rowan’s smile as she responds. 

“We don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.” 

He quickly looks back to her, surprised at her warm response. 

“Are you sure? Aren’t you cold?” He asks, not wanting to put her out on his behalf. 

Her bright smile makes his heart beat faster in his chest, and he’s sure she can hear it.

“Not really.” She says, shaking her head as she looks to the tree. “This is the most relaxed I’ve felt in this weirwood since my return to Winterfell.” She tells him before getting up and taking off his cloak. 

He remains still as she walks behind him, draping it over his shoulders as he did earlier, making sure it’s perfect before she comes and sits beside him. 

He watches as she pulls his cloak open, sliding closer next to him, his body on fire as they finally touch. 

“Now, you put your arm around me, and I’ll be warm.” She tells him as she turns to look up at him, letting him study her face for any trace of trickery. 

Having found none, he slowly puts his left arm around her back, his hand gently resting on her side. He hastily pulls her into his side, making sure she’s covered by the cloak as best as she can be. 

She meets his gaze again, her face turning up toward him, and he can see the blush creeping about her skin. 

“Good?” He asks in a whisper. 

Rowan smiles serenely. 

“You are.” She says as she puts her right hand on his left knee, her head on his chest, closing her eyes. 

Stunned by her actions and words, it takes a minute for Sandor to comprehend what’s going on, but when he finally is aware, he reciprocates.

He can feel her smile against him when he places his huge right hand over hers, and let’s his scarred cheek rest against the top of her head.


End file.
